


Everything is Forgiven Here

by RinAngel



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Angst, Assassin Jungwoo, Assassination Attempt(s), Assassination Plot(s), Assassins & Hitmen, Child Death, Child Soldiers, Enemies to Lovers, Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Taeyong, Psychic Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 19:14:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29796579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RinAngel/pseuds/RinAngel
Summary: "It was always the sweet things that ended up being the most dangerous."Taeyong isn't suited to humanity— he's too dangerous. That's exactly why Jungwoo needs to kill him if he wants to go on living. The task is simple enough, except that Taeyong and his charmed garden of Eden are sobright,Jungwoo isn't sure how he'll be able to stomach returning to the darkness once he's gone.
Relationships: Kim Jungwoo/Lee Taeyong
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Adam

It was like the garden of Eden, still and serene, bathed in the mid-morning sun filtering through the trees. The only sounds were the calls of the birds and insects, rejoicing in the fresh spring warmth. The sights were many, trees and flowers and soft cushions of moss that held sturdy beneath Taeyong’s bare soles; further down the hill, a small ravine dropped off into a rushing river, ripe with fish throughout the year. This deep in the forest, visitors were rare. The headache-inducing smell of burning gasoline and asphalt didn’t reach, and the trees that went on for miles blocked any possibility of a skyscraper on the skyline.

Some days, Taeyong had wisps of nostalgia for the city he’d grown up in: feeding scraps of leftover meat to the stray dogs in the alleyway behind his tenement building, or the friendly old woman at the nearby market who would muss his hair and give him sweets when he came around with his sister. He missed humanity, but really— really, Eden was enough for him, most of the time.

The rush of the river seemed particularly loud that morning, like all-encompassing music. Taeyong sat down on the tree stump closest to his cottage, which had to be used to acting as a chair by now, and he fetched a handful of sunflower seeds from the dwindling burlap sack behind him. There were plenty of bunnies that darted through the undergrowth, sometimes helping themselves to nibbles from his vegetable garden, but they were too fearful to come close. The squirrels, on the other hand, knew better; a fat red one rushed up to his feet fearlessly, sniffing at his fingertips and taking its time selecting a seed from his hand.

There was much to do that afternoon. Wood to split, fish to catch, and if the daylight held out, there was a leaky shingle on his roof that would soon need replacing. But, the mornings, he liked to take advantage of. He liked to start his days slow.

“Excuse me— excuse me!”

Taeyong thought he was hearing things, at first. His cottage was at least an hour’s hike from civilization, and well off the path, in a place where cars and four-wheelers couldn’t reach. _That was what made it perfect._ But occasionally someone did turn up, a hopelessly lost hiker who noticed the smoke from his chimney, or an adventurous kayaker waving to him from the river. It wasn’t impossible.

“Excuse me! I need help!”

This call was unmistakable, and Taeyong got to his feet at once, turning south, in the direction of the voice. Yes, it was unmistakable, the form of the man making his way through the dense forest growth. It wasn’t an easy trek, especially limping as he was, and Taeyong’s heart began to pound.

“I’m here! No need to be afraid!” he called in response. His voice was raspier than he remembered, broken from underuse, and he quickly cleared his throat, his heart pounding. His bare feet made their way easily from soft grass to crunchy sticks underfoot, but he was so used to it that it barely registered. “Are you injured? How can I help you? My home is this way— I have some medical supplies if you need them.”

The closer he came, the harder it was for Taeyong to discern if he was a man or a _boy._ His height was impressive, long arms and legs, but his large eyes and unruly mop of hair made Taeyong instantly think of a child. Surely, he was no more than twenty, and that— _that only made the bruises worse._ His lip was split and swollen, his left cheek beginning to darken to a nasty, painful purple.

He could remember seeing his mother’s face the same way over the stove some mornings, eyes downcast while she prepared their school lunch boxes, every movement slow and tired. The very thought had Taeyong’s heart pumping with adrenaline, and he reached out to steady the man when he weaved on trembling legs.

“Please help me. Please. I don’t know where to go. My father is going to kill me if I go home.”

“Oh—” And all of a sudden, Taeyong knew, Taeyong _knew._ He knew that fear, he knew that pain, he knew the foreboding anxiety of having nowhere to go. Humanity could hurt. It often did. “No, no, come with me. I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe here.”

Taeyong wrapped his arm around the man’s sweat-drenched shoulders. He seemed overexerted, on the edge of consciousness, and his breath was shaking as though each one hurt to draw. The feeling washed over Taeyong, and it made him tremble too. He was an empath, and this pain _hurt,_ like a knife twisting in his chest.

🌺

Jungwoo was actually twenty-two, but the fact that he looked younger worked well to his advantage. In his world, it was always the sweet things that ended up being the most dangerous.

The cottage was more than he expected— nestled into the shadow of a tall oak tree, fashioned of moss-covered stone and patched with worn concrete. The door was leaning dangerously on its hinges, but the inside was still warm and cozy, with mismatched rugs covering the dirt floor and a fireplace full of smoldering coals. Taeyong didn’t have a couch or a chair, but he brought Jungwoo to the netted hammock in the corner and helped him to lie down, and he quickly shed the small knapsack that he was carrying so he could lay down. His ribs hurt, they _really_ hurt— every breath was a stab of pain, he was pretty sure at least one was broken.

“Wait here. I’ll get you some water,” he soothed, running an affectionate hand over Jungwoo’s damp hair before he turned his back. He was smaller than Jungwoo had pictured, with thin shoulders and long, pretty fingers. _His eyes, though. He looks just like his pictures._ “What’s your name?” Taeyong questioned, ladling some water from a covered iron pot into a cup. He had what looked like a first-aid kit, too, the label worn with age.

“My name is Kim Jungwoo,” he replied, accepting the cup of water with a grateful smile. It wasn’t cold, but it still soothed his parched throat and his cracked lips. “What’s yours?” he asked once the cup was empty.

“Taeyong,” he answered simply, pulling over a wooden crate to sit on while he shuffled through the kit. No last name, interesting. Jungwoo closed his eyes and said nothing about it. “Poor thing,” he murmured under his breath, dabbing some salve onto a cotton pad and carefully dabbing it on Jungwoo’s scraped-up cheek. “I’m so sorry that this happened to you. No one deserves this.”

Jungwoo had been beaten before— for breaking rules, for poor performance in his training, or simply as an assertion of his _nothingness—_ but this was the first time that he’d ever been beaten for the sake of giving him bruises. The task of marking him up had been given to Yukhei and Donghyuck, and he had a feeling that they’d taken a little too much joy in it. Still— “My dad hits me all the time, but never like this,” he lied weakly, taking shallow breaths. “He was drunk last night, and I was out past curfew, so a cop escorted me home. He was furious with me. I— I’m certain that he wanted to kill me, so I ran outside and hid in the forest overnight, and once it got light, I just started walking.”

The truth? The commander had dumped him there, at the edge of the forest, bloodied and bruised and sleepless, they’d pointed him in the estimated direction of the dilapidated little cottage, and they’d told him to walk. If he stumbled into the ravine, or passed out and died of exposure… well, they’d just send Donghyuck next and see how he fared.

“That’s terrible. You haven’t slept at all, then?” Taeyong murmured, dabbing a stinging disinfectant on Jungwoo’s split lower lip next and making him wince. “You should stay here and rest. For as long as you need to. I know I have next to nothing, it might not be comfortable, but I can promise you, no one will find you until you’re ready to be found.”

_Incorrect, Taeyong. You’re not undiscoverable. We found you._

“I don’t want to take from you when you have so little,” Jungwoo insisted weakly, opening his eyes to meet Taeyong’s gaze. His eyes really were amazing, endearingly round and mocha-brown. It made Jungwoo _wish_ he was a runaway looking for shelter. “I can give you some money… I wish I had more, considering the fact that you’re saving my life…”

“There’s no need. None at all.” Taeyong shook his head, his dark hair falling messily across his forehead. “I’ve never really had a father, but there was violence in my home growing up, too. I know how much damage it can do, and how much the fear can stick with you.”

“Really?” Jungwoo questioned, his wonder genuine. Silly as it sounded, he’d never really thought about Taeyong’s family upbringing. Easier to assume that he’d appeared in the world as a monster, as a random act of chaos, the same way that Jungwoo thought about himself.

“Really. Sometimes I still have nightmares.” Taeyong’s voice was curiously flat as he answered, his mouth neither smiling nor frowning. “Are you injured anywhere else? If you’re comfortable— you should take off your clothes, so I can see how bad the bruising is.”

Bad. The bruising was bad. Suddenly, Jungwoo was oddly comforted by the thoroughness of the “disguise” he’d been given. “Okay,” he answered in a timid whisper, fingers flying to the buttons on his shirt. Bruises spread out over his chest like clusters of wildflowers, scarred welts and cigarette burns raised off his skin like ocean waves. Marks of the discarded, badges of the unlovable, and yet Taeyong’s fingers glided across them with a grace that left him more stunned than a slap.

Touches were meant to hurt. Jungwoo closed his eyes, held his breath, and waited for the pain, but this time he was curiously numb.

🌻

Jungwoo. What a pretty name. It suited him, Taeyong thought with a blush, a pretty name for a pretty boy.

He was like a living contradiction, lying asleep in the hammock with his shirt still wide open and his scars on display. Beauty and horror, a tale as old as time and bound to end in tragedy. Times were rough, especially in the poorest areas of the city. The stress and struggle of unemployment led to beaten and neglected children, children who would grow up with no other instinct than to abuse their own families.

Stress did something to people. Taeyong knew. Oh, Taeyong knew.

While Jungwoo rested, Taeyong knew that he had to get to work. He’d promised Jungwoo nothing more than safety, but he wanted to keep him warm and full-bellied if he could help it. He fetched his fishing pole from the rack by the door, checked the line and hook to make sure everything was secure. There were calm waters downstream, perfect for catching glimmering trout and muddy brown catfish. On the way back with his fish, passing through a small grove of apple trees, he paused to gather the reddest and prettiest fruits to offer his guest.

Splitting wood was another priority, but it had become one of the easiest of his chores: one stern look, and the logs split themselves, as though they were afraid of him. It was _almost_ funny, when he thought of it that way.

 _You’re not like other children, Yongie._ His mother’s voice came to mind, her face thin and years older than her true age. _It might seem like a fun trick, but you could scare people by showing them what you can do with your mind. You need to promise me that you won’t ever use your powers outside of our apartment, okay? Never, never. Not even for a moment._

Taeyong thought about it as he reignited the dying coals— it took only a blink of his eyes and the offering of a small log. A fun trick, indeed.

Jungwoo drifted awake in the mid-afternoon: his lips parted first in a tired sigh, his back arched, and when the hammock swung dangerously in response to his movement, his eyes snapped open. They were dull with confusion until they adapted to their surroundings, and Taeyong couldn’t blame him. His one-room cottage had no electricity, illuminated solely by the fire’s glow and natural light from one window; the walls were plain, and the floor was messy, and truly, there was only space there for one. Still, his kitchen area was well-stocked, and on the rickety little table, a chipped vase of wild poppies added a dash of cheer to the place.

“How are you feeling? Hungry?” Taeyong questioned softly, only looking up from the fire for a moment before his attention returned to the stick-skewered fish, which constantly needed to be turned to avoid their skin getting too charred. “I have some trout that’s nearly ready. And rice, of course.” A covered pot bubbled and stuttered above the flames, occasionally dripping water on the coals with a _hiss._ Rice, _of course,_ though he didn’t eat much rice these days. It wasn’t something he could grow or gather, it was a luxury that had to be bought in town.

 _And it’s been awhile since Youngmi has come through, since before the winter._ His sister tried to be good to him, but she had a family, children, and her own obligations. She couldn’t support her runaway brother forever.

“Yeah. I’m really hungry,” Jungwoo admitted, suddenly pulling his shirt closed over his bruises, as though realizing they were exposed for the first time. _Like a morning glory that doesn’t realize how beautiful he is._ He kept the observation to himself, a smile playing on his lips as he turned to check the fish. “This cottage is impressive,” Jungwoo added, his voice lilting and melodic though it was barely above a whisper. “Did you build it yourself?”

“Not quite. The foundation and walls were here when I stumbled onto it,” Taeyong recounted. He had a chipped but dependable plate ready on the table, and he lifted the skewer of coal-charred fish, transferring them carefully onto the single dish. “The roof was all my doing, though. And I built the fireplace. That’s what I’m the most proud of— there was a lot of trial and error before I perfected the chimney.”

“You taught yourself, then? Amazing…”

Taeyong could feel Jungwoo’s eyes on him, and— and he had to admit that he liked it, it gave him a tingly feeling starting in his scalp and cloaking him like a veil of comfort. He bent over to grab the rice pot, and when he glanced up, that lovely gaze pulled him back in. He could get used to feeling that way.

“Not that amazing. Thank you, though. Come and eat?”

🌱

Dinner was lovely, though Jungwoo was sure this was only amplified by the nearly two days he’d starved beforehand. The fish was flavorful like none he’d ever eaten before, the brown rice so comforting and filling that he happily ate it without need for seasonings. When the meal was gone, Taeyong offered him a ripe red apple for dessert, which he ate core and all.

“Can I help you clean up? I should do the dishes, at the very least. You’ve been so kind to me.”

Taeyong was tending to the fire when Jungwoo spoke, maneuvering the coals aside for another small log. His hands looked calloused and worn from a lifetime of hard work, but his doe-like eyes made him look younger than Jungwoo knew him to be. “We’ll save clean-up for tomorrow. I’ll have to go get more water, but it’s too dangerous to go at night. There’s a pot of boiled water by the door if you get thirsty, and— if you need to use the bathroom, the best place is the grove of cedar trees, away from the ravine.”

 _Crazy._ Jungwoo had starved, he’d lived in squalor, but he’d never gone without running water or electricity. “You seem like you know the area well. How long have you lived here?” Jungwoo questioned next, stacking up the dishes lamely beside him for lack of anything constructive to do. Taeyong had a small table but no chairs, and so they’d eaten on the faded blue rug before the fireplace.

“Hmm…” Perhaps it was Jungwoo’s imagination, but Taeyong didn’t look particularly eager to answer that question. He gave the fire another poke, and a dull _pop_ from the coals made Jungwoo flinch back, but Taeyong didn’t move. “Four years? Five years? Maybe closer to five.”

“It must get lonely.”

Jungwoo wasn’t sure why he said it, or why thinking about it made his chest so damn tight. Being alone wasn’t the only precedent for loneliness. Jungwoo was often lonely while he was surrounded by people, after all. _But to be truly, completely alone? I wonder if it would drive you mad._ And was that really the best thing for someone whose psychic powers were so strong that they’d thrown off the tracking devices that the government used to hunt them down?

“Sometimes,” Taeyong agreed vaguely, looking up through his unkempt, blunt bangs and meeting Jungwoo’s eyes. The flickering sparks of the fire danced in the dark expanse of his pupil, and suddenly the air between them seemed to stir. Jungwoo wanted to move closer, he wished he was brave enough, but he only trembled where he sat and waited for Taeyong to continue, “I spent a lot of time out in this forest when I was a child, though, so it feels like home. It’s comfortable— though having someone to talk to is a welcome change. Actually, people used to tell me I was too talkative when I was little.” He chuckled, his eyes crinkling into two glittering crescent moons. “Ah. If you really want to repay me in some way, let me take you outside tomorrow and chatter to you about my flowers. That would be enough repayment. I’ve been waiting for someone to share my garden with.”

Something about the purity of that one request made Jungwoo’s heart flutter and ache. It would have been so much easier if Taeyong was a monster, and yet— he could still feel the elder’s timid touch on his face, dabbing at his wounds as though Jungwoo were made of glass. He wanted to ask Taeyong to touch him again, suddenly, but he didn’t have the words.

“Yeah. Of course. I’d love that.” Jungwoo smiled, though it made his swollen face ache. It was well worth the smile he received in return.

Even after sleeping all afternoon, Jungwoo was sore and exhausted. Taeyong offered him the hammock without hesitation, and when Jungwoo weakly protested, he only smiled as he stretched himself out on the rug with his arms folded beneath his head as a makeshift pillow. “There’s a spare blanket on the floor beneath you, if you need it. It can get pretty cold in here at night.”

Taeyong was asleep quickly, without so much as a sheet draped over him. The fire smoldered down to coals again, the golden light dancing on his skin— and Jungwoo watched him, unblinking, trying to ignore how heavy his eyelids were becoming. This was the time, while he couldn’t anticipate or retaliate. This was the moment Jungwoo was there for. _This is the reason why I exist._

Slowly, _slowly,_ Jungwoo reached for the small bag that he’d dropped beneath the hammock. It didn’t have room for much: it only contained a few coins, a long-empty water canteen, and a small black handgun, fully loaded. Holding the gun was like second nature to Jungwoo, it felt like a natural extension of his hand.

He clicked off the safety. _That_ made the weapon in his hands feel dangerous, all of a sudden. He looked at Taeyong, raised his right arm and steadied it with his left, aimed _right_ for the back of his head. From such close range, one hundred percent accuracy. Any other day, it would have been a guarantee.

As soon as the thought came to him, though, his arm began to shake. His hand was _sweating_ for some reason, his palm felt slippery— and feeling a rush of something like panic, he clicked the safety back on, trying to catch his heaving breath. _Can’t tonight. Too tired. Might miss, and then—_ He had a sudden vision in his mind of the stone cottage crumbling around them, the boulders behind him toppling down and crushing his body in seconds.

 _Can’t tonight. But later. Soon. Have to._ His hands still shaking, he shoved the gun back into his bag, stowed it back beneath the hammock, and grabbed the blanket that Taeyong had invited him to. It felt like wool, but it was thin, pilled and scattered with holes. It wouldn’t do much to cut the chill, and once more, Jungwoo’s mind was brought back to his original course of thought. _How has he done this for so long, all by himself?_

Jungwoo let his eyes slip close and his brain turn off. It was easier to dissociate, to not think at all, than to think so hard that he began to feel.

🥀

Jungwoo’s first memories are tinged with darkness.

Not just in the sense that there was no sun, not just in the sense that the little dormitory bedrooms were windowless and lit with bare fluorescent bulbs. It was a childhood that allowed _no room_ for light, and it had turned him and the others into adults _unthinkably_ early.

Jungwoo remembers being ordered to stand at attention with the other children, eyes forward, in perfect silence, for hours. He remembers children younger than him, almost _babies,_ being smacked for fidgeting. He remembers the sting of a switch at the back of his legs when he dared to ask for water. The drills had seemed pointless, but years later, he recognized them for what they were: mind-breaking techniques, designed to remind them all that they had no choice but to follow orders. Obeying might be uncomfortable, but disobeying would _hurt._

Things only got harder when he was transferred to an older squadron and trained to fight. In the early years, the commanders would pair them up for their skirmishes, and Jungwoo would get his ass kicked every time without fail; the more experienced boys knew that losing was not an option, and so they’d scratch, they’d bite, they’d go for eyes and throats and even balls if they had to. The loser had earned their wounds, and they’d earned the subsequent beatings from the commanders after the fact.

 _“This is why you’re here. This is why your parents didn’t want you. This is why they left.”_ Jungwoo doesn’t remember the face of the man who said these words as he threw him to the ground by his hair, but he’ll _never_ forget the voice, so cold and completely without empathy. _“You are nothing. Here, you’ll become useful, or you’ll die trying. Do you understand me?”_

There was no other answer with a steel-toed boot planted on his back. Jungwoo remembers how hard it was to draw a breath to say, _“Yes, I understand.”_

The beatings were good motivation to fight with his entire heart. It certainly helped that Jungwoo had an early growth spurt, and was soon the tallest in his squadron. Soon, he was winning every skirmish without holding back: older or younger, boy or girl, all that mattered was coming out on top. Sometimes that meant coming out with clumps of hair in his hands and blood under his nails, but it was better than not coming out at all.

Jungwoo remembers the first time he held a gun, and he remembers the challenge that went along with it: _“Prove yourself useful. Prove that you can kill without hesitating. Prove that you are fearless enough to keep your life.”_ It was him versus another boy his own age, each armed with a loaded gun. Whoever was the quicker shot would advance to the next step of training.

The other boy had been wide-eyed, shaking. Jungwoo had known better than to tremble.

Jungwoo remembers killing, and he remembers being kept awake that night by the residual image of blood and brains spewed across the floor. He couldn’t keep from crying, and for that he was beaten, but at least it wasn’t for being _completely_ worthless.

_“Some people, the world would be better off without. Are you going to be one of those people, Jungwoo? Or are you going to be a cog in the machine that cleans up the world?”_

And there was no other answer, _no_ other answer. Jungwoo knew his purpose in life before his thirteenth birthday, before his first crush, before his first sprout of facial hair. He was a cog, and if he rusted, if he fell, he would be all too easy to replace.


	2. Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure about finishing this due to lack of interest - please do let me know if you want an ending, but at the moment I'm going to be working on some other things that I'm hoping will get a bit more engagement.

“Mornings are beautiful out here.”

It was Jungwoo who said it aloud, but privately, Taeyong had always thought so. The golden glow of the rising sun, the refreshing cold of the morning dew beneath his feet, the trills and chirps of birdsong— that was why he always woke early, after all. Early mornings gave him a breath of life that was absent from the afternoons and the cold, dreary nights.

And Jungwoo, walking ahead of him, was a vision against the most beautiful backdrop. His hair, still messy from sleep, seemed to float around his head like a halo; when they arrived at the edge of the garden, he climbed up onto Taeyong’s tree stump for a better view, putting out his arms for balance. The bruises on his face had yet to fade, but the swelling was a bit less after four days, and it no longer made him wince when he smiled.

“Yeah.” Taeyong smiled faintly. “Yeah… beautiful.”

It wasn’t just that Jungwoo was nice to look at— that would have made Taeyong feel too shallow, it wasn’t _just_ that. It was that Jungwoo seemed genuinely happy to be there, it was the wide-eyed wonder with which he took in every part of Taeyong’s private kingdom. _What did you say these trees were called again? Can you really eat these? Wait,_ this _is where potatoes come from?!_

“It’s so quiet,” Jungwoo murmured, his eyes slipping closed as a cool but gentle breeze swept through. “I could stay out here forever.”

“Mm.” Taeyong hummed his agreement, but really, it was because he didn’t want to say what was on his mind: _No one would want to stay with me forever. No one_ should. _All you need to do is distance yourself from your father, and then there’s a whole world out there for you._ That thought was enough to taint everything bittersweet again, and Taeyong had trouble swallowing, his throat feeling dry.

And then, out of nowhere, Jungwoo’s stomach let out an audible growl, and Taeyong couldn’t keep himself from smiling. “Hungry? Here— let me show you something I haven’t yet.”

Jungwoo’s eyes lit up in the second before Taeyong turned around, making his way north into the grove of trees. “What is it?”

“We’ll see if the wild strawberries are ready. There were some green ones the last time I checked.” Somber as he’d made the morning mood for himself, he couldn't keep his mouth from watering at the prospect of sweet ripe strawberries. They had always been his favorite fruit, but in the forest their season was fleeting, and he had to compete with the animals and the bugs for them.

“Yum! Sounds great!” Jungwoo hurried along behind, keeping close as ever, though his breath hitched every so often with the pain of an inhale too deep. Taeyong moved slowly to compensate; besides, hungry as they both were, he still preferred not to hurry. The forest seemed to hum around them, thick with the scent of approaching summer, and he wanted to savor it.

The berries were indeed ripe, and Taeyong instructed Jungwoo to pick as much as he could, sparing none; they’d brought no container, and so they used the pocket of Jungwoo’s jacket instead, taking great care not to let them get crushed inside. (For every few they picked, he added as a supplement, they could each eat one. Berry-picking was no fun without taking a sample.) As they walked, the land got steeper, and soon they came upon the edge of a cliff overlooking the ravine. It was breathtaking, but evidently unnerving from the way that Jungwoo held back from the edge and paled when Taeyong walked up close.

“Hyung— please be careful, will you?”

Taeyong looked back, and to his surprise, Jungwoo was trembling, shifting his weight uneasily from one foot to the other. For some reason he couldn’t place, the thought of Jungwoo worrying for his safety made him feel warm inside. Worry was a harrowing feeling to have, but a lovely one to receive.

“Don’t worry, Jungwoo. Do you want to go back?”

“Yes. Please.” Jungwoo fidgeted with the jacket slung over his arm, and even when Taeyong retreated from the edge, his body seemed tense, all sharp angles and quivering muscles. Something about it warmed Taeyong to his core, and as Jungwoo turned to retrace their steps back into the forest— Taeyong took a chance, reaching his invisible arm several meters ahead to tug on the back of Jungwoo’s shirt. The taller man stumbled and slowed, turning his head back in surprise just a second before Taeyong’s _physical_ arms wrapped around his waist.

Jungwoo _was_ tense in Taeyong’s embrace, as though he truly wasn’t sure how to react. Was this what happened when you had a childhood devoid of affection? _At least I had a mother and a sister who hugged me. I wonder what he had. I wonder what he’s so scared to go back to._

But then— slowly, with the timidity of someone easing themself into a hot bath— Jungwoo let his muscles unlock, little by little, and Taeyong closed his eyes as he let his cheek rest against Jungwoo’s strong shoulder. Everyone needed hugs, including Taeyong himself. He wished there was a way that he could ask Jungwoo to return it, but his mouth went dry as he opened it, and instead he managed, “It’s going to be okay. I’ll make you breakfast.”

“Okay.” Jungwoo looked bewildered as Taeyong pulled away, eyes almost comically round, but he let the elder take the lead and followed behind without a word.

The world was still and quiet, save for Taeyong’s pounding heart.

💐

Jungwoo had never been embraced like that before, so tenderly and innocently, another touch where nothing hurt. Taeyong made him feel something that nobody ever had, and it was made all the more confusing by the mental image he’d had only seconds before: charging Taeyong and shoving him off the cliff into the rapids below. The perfect opportunity had been there, and he’d passed it up.

_And then Taeyong hugged me, and everything felt different._

Back at the cottage, Taeyong threw together a batter of ground acorns and water (Jungwoo had literally never heard of such a thing), and they ate griddle cakes with strawberries. Afterwards, Taeyong pulled a folded towel from a crate of supplies, and proposed that they bathe and wash their clothes. “I only have one towel, so we’ll have to share, but I have a robe you can wear while your clothes dry.” Then he smiled, offering the worn towel with both hands. “I’ll let you go first. Leave your clothes on the bank, and I’ll wash them when I’m done.”

There was no soap or shampoo, but Jungwoo would make do. Scrubbing himself with handfuls of sand would be good enough to exfoliate the sweat and dead skin from his body. Not being perfectly clean— well, he’d endured worse in his life. His skin was a map of miseries that proved that well enough. There was a perfectly round scar on his bicep from a cigar burn, a tangled net of welts on his back from repeated floggings, there were the tender bruises on his ribs with the sickening pain of a broken bone still lingering underneath… but from Taeyong’s touch? No marks, no pain, just an all-consuming _itch_ inside of him.

At last, Jungwoo dried off, draping the towel on a low-hanging willow branch and donning Taeyong’s bathrobe. It was cozy, but he still felt exposed as he approached Taeyong in the garden, an unfamiliar heat creeping up his neck as he met his eyes. “Your turn. Is there anything you need me to do while you’re cleaning up?”

Taeyong smiled, his eyes crinkling and sparkling in the sunlight. “Yeah. There are sunflower seeds in a bag under the roof overhang. Feed the squirrels,” he said simply, and heading off down the trail to the water.

A strange request, but honestly, it didn’t seem that out-of-place coming from Taeyong. Jungwoo found himself smiling as he retrieved a palmful of seeds and crouched in the grass, just as Taeyong had shown him on his first morning. Two red squirrels scampered out of the undergrowth, chattering at his unfamiliar scent, but gathering the seeds eagerly as Jungwoo scattered them in the grass.

His mind was still with Taeyong. The touch of his fingers on Jungwoo’s face, the sight of him curled up asleep on the dirty rug by the fire. His strong arms, linked around Jungwoo’s waist, and his cheek on the nape of his neck, softer than it had any business being.

He had to kill him. And he would. Except the thought of Taeyong’s beautiful face destroyed by a bullet made Jungwoo want to throw up his breakfast.

With a pounding heart, he made his way back down the path, bare feet picking up a layer of dirt once more on the well-worn forest floor. The rocky ravine made it impossible to get to the river safely at most points, but Taeyong had showed Jungwoo a place where the descent was smoother, the best place to reach the water. Jungwoo hung out back by the trees, modestly out of sight, but he couldn’t ignore the pile of their clothes in the grass, mingling together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jungwoo crept forward, silently enamored. Taeyong was in the shallowest part of the water, sitting on the rocks and letting the water rush over him— eyes closed, body relaxed, and naked as the day he was born. He was skinny, like the stick-thin models in the magazines, but his golden skin was unblemished, and looked soft despite the harsh life that he’d led.

_“Your target is Lee Taeyong. It’s been seven years since we’ve had a confirmed sighting of him, but we’ve narrowed his location down to somewhere south of Neo-Seoul, most likely in the forest. He’s a powerful telekinetic, but there’s a chance he has other latent or active psychic powers that we can’t account for.” The commander who had briefed him was one Lee Soonkyu; new soldiers were often deceived by her size and her feminine charm, but there was nothing safe or sweet about her. She was all business, like the rest of them. “He’s very dangerous, Jungwoo. He’s killed before— eleven people dead and dozens injured when he threw a psychic tantrum and crumbled a tenement building, crushing everything inside. He’s vicious. Tread lightly.”_

Jungwoo’s brain was scrambled. He could picture himself on top of Taeyong— no, not drowning him in the river like he should have wanted, but kissing along his perfect clavicles, running his thumbs along the angles of his hipbones, leaving love-bites on his thighs. Making Taeyong moan his name, _scream_ his name, like the girls in the dirty videos that the commanders sometimes smuggled in for them as a favor.

Didn’t Taeyong have desires like that, too? Even if he _was_ technically a monster, wasn’t he still a man? Jungwoo was transfixed, and as he hurriedly undid the sash of the robe and fumbled for the growing need between his own legs, he found his brain trying to resurrect the cadence of Taeyong’s voice saying his name.

🍃

While Taeyong was lazing the days away, picking berries and caring for the garden and teaching Jungwoo how to fish, there was a nagging in the back of his mind that soured his thoughts. _Where is Youngmi?_ His sister had been bringing him supplies every few months, in secret, but it had been— how long? Six months?

 _I wouldn’t blame her if she was tired of looking after me, considering what I did to Mom. I just wish I could call her and make sure she’s okay._ Life in the city, after all, with a husband on the police force… it had to have its own jagged edges.

But Taeyong was running out of supplies, things that he couldn’t replace in the forest. No more candles, no more soap, no more rice. He’d run out of sugar and coffee, his two favorite luxuries, in the middle of the winter, and he sure could have used some new blankets too. It had been years since he’d ventured into a city, and, well— he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be recognized, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous. _It’s scary in the city, and if something happened, I can’t guarantee what I would do._

“What are you doing up this early?” Jungwoo’s half-asleep voice came from the hammock in the corner; Taeyong glanced over with a start, but Jungwoo’s blurry gaze and sleep-swollen cheeks calmed his racing heart. “Making breakfast?”

“Not this morning, Jungwoo. I’m sorry.” Taeyong smiled apologetically, turning his attention back to the herbs he was wrapping and bundling for safety. Normally, he repaid Youngmi with the medicinal herbs that he could gather, feverfew leaves and ginseng root— but how much money he could truly get for them, he wasn’t exactly sure. “I need to go get supplies. I’m running out of everything.”

“Oh—” These words on their own were enough to rouse Jungwoo from his dreamy haze, and he struggled to sit up in the hammock without tipping himself out. “Neo-Seoul is dangerous if you don’t know it, though. And if you don’t have money… let me go, hyung. I told you, I have some money in my bag. I’ve been using your supplies, and— and if your offer still stands, then I really don’t want to leave this place yet. It would be the least I could do.”

“Isn’t it dangerous for you?” Taeyong’s brows furrowed, though it made his heart pound, knowing that Jungwoo wanted to stay. “What if your dad finds out you’re there? If you _don’t_ come back— I’ll never stop worrying.”

 _That would make it twelve people that I’ve killed without meaning to._ The thought made Taeyong’s stomach twist, but Jungwoo shook his head brightly as he got to his feet.

“I’ll come back, no matter what. Like I said, I don’t want to leave this place.” Jungwoo’s eyes glimmered, and Taeyong felt his insides instantly disintegrate into mush.

And so Taeyong dropped his original task and set forth on another: filling his canteen with boiled water for Jungwoo’s journey, wrapping leftover roast rabbit from the night before in a clean scrap of cloth and fetching the last of the ripe apples he had picked to send along with him. While Jungwoo changed into one of Taeyong’s spare T-shirts and splashed his face with cold water from the wash basin, Taeyong grabbed Jungwoo’s small canvas bag from beneath the hammock to pack him up.

“Hyung—” Jungwoo spoke up at once, snatching the bag right out of Taeyong’s hands before he could even speak. “You don’t need to do this for me. Save your energy. Why don’t you go back to sleep?”

He opened the bag himself to pack up the supplies, seeming to do so with great care, and Taeyong sighed. “I’m not sleepy. I’ll be worried the entire time you’re gone. Be safe, okay? And don’t buy more than you can carry. If you have to pick just a couple things… rice, sugar, and candlesticks. Please.”

“Don’t worry, I’m strong! I’ll buy as much as I have money for,” Jungwoo promised, cinching the bag closed again and slinging it onto his shoulder. Oh, Taeyong believed he was strong, all right— he had to remind himself not to watch Jungwoo’s muscles flex through the thin shirt.

It felt strange, standing in the doorway and watching Jungwoo put on his shoes. He felt like a wife watching her husband prepare to go off to war, butterflies swirling around in his stomach, hem of his shirt twisted between his hands. Then Jungwoo stood up straight, and _he_ was fidgeting too, mirroring Taeyong’s movements without seeming to realize.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Jungwoo?”

“I’m—” Jungwoo began to answer and then cut himself off, seeming unsure what to say. He bit his lip, looked down for a moment, and when he finally opened his mouth again, there was something _different_ in his demeanor. The energy shook Taeyong to his core, made him vibrate before a word was even said.

“Taeyong-hyung, may I kiss you?”

Surreal, purely surreal. Taeyong closed his eyes and opened them, expecting to find himself waking up on the rug, with Jungwoo snoring away nearby, but— no, this was seriously happening, Jungwoo was looking at him so very _earnestly._ He bit his lips together, the anxiety pouring off of him in waves. Taeyong had never been kissed, he never had boyfriends or girlfriends in high school— had Jungwoo?

 _Does he want to kiss me because he’s missing someone else… or because he wants to kiss me?_ Taeyong couldn’t think about it. Truthfully, part of him didn’t even care, because if there was one thing he wanted more than a hug, it was a kiss. He nodded faintly, closed his eyes, and let Jungwoo pull him in by the waist.

It wasn’t fireworks, like they wrote about in romance novels, it wasn’t life-changing rapture— but it was comfortable, and sweet, and it gave Taeyong a pleasant chill that traveled down his spine to his toes. Instinct pulled his arms around Jungwoo’s shoulders, and when the taller man broke the kiss, he _stayed close,_ their foreheads touching and their eyes probing, as if daring each other to speak the first word.

“Come back safe,” Taeyong was the one to break the spell, and he let his arms drop after one more comforting squeeze. “Please. I really need you to.”

“I’m good for my word. Trust me.” Jungwoo pulled back with a sweet smile, and as he stepped out the door, he offered out in light-hearted jest, “Feed the squirrels for me, and let them know that I’m bringing them back a treat!”

No, not life-changing rapture, but— but— Taeyong felt _hollow_ as he watched Jungwoo’s retreating back, and all he could think about was _more._ Maybe Jungwoo had shot his way into Taeyong’s heart without either of them realizing it.

🌲

It _was_ a long walk to civilization— Jungwoo had nearly forgotten how much it sucked. His legs were burning with the exertion by the time he reached the dirt road, the first sign of humanity, but he continued on stubbornly, fought through the pain as fiercely as ever. Pain was just pain, it hadn’t killed him yet.

From the treeline, he could see the daunting skyscrapers and ugly smokestacks of Neo-Seoul looming before him, making his skin crawl with apprehension. Luckily, he wouldn’t have to go that far. Before the city was the suburbs, a series of less-dense towns where he could get everything he needed. Still, he felt exposed, and silly as it was, he wished desperately that he’d brought a handkerchief to use as a mask.

 _What use is a mask when they can already see my every move?_ Thinking about the microscopic tracking chip in his bloodstream made his arms itch like crazy. He didn’t remember getting the injection— it had happened at intake, at the tender age of six, when his orphanage had shut down and the Specialty Forces Bureau had taken him in for training. The only thing he knew for certain, having been told ad nauseam, was that it was unremovable.

_“We saved you from starving on the street, and you need to pay your dues back to us. So don’t think of going anywhere, because we’ll retrieve you. And if we determine that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, we’ll dispose of you. There are a thousand other cogs just like you, and I’m sure they’d all be happy to find some use.”_

No, no, no, he had to think about something else. Something like Taeyong’s lips on his own, soft and warm, giving Jungwoo his first kiss. Something like the beautiful glimmer in the older man’s round eyes when they broke apart, and the way he’d shyly licked his bottom lip, as if savoring the taste of their intimacy. The thought gave Jungwoo an extra burst of energy and made the exhaustion seem inconsequential. The faster he worked, the faster he would get back— and the faster they could spend the afternoon _kissing._

He didn’t know the name of the suburb where he ended up, only that it had a humble little main street lined with shops, and he found a grocery store with ease. It was small, with narrow aisles, but all the essentials were there: a sizeable bag of brown rice, instant coffee, granulated sugar. After getting the things that Taeyong asked for, he recounted his money and calculated how to spend every last won; he grabbed a bag of dried black beans, some peanut butter, and as an afterthought, a box of assorted chocolates, shaped like a big red heart.

After Jungwoo paid, he walked towards the door, noticing a clothing donation box by the doors. _Right now, it’s warm, but I bet Taeyong would be happy to have an extra coat in the winter. Anyway, I suppose these_ are _here to help the less fortunate, so…_ He glanced back towards the counter, checking to see if the cashier was looking his way— but before he could assess, the automatic doors slid open and a familiar body stepped in. Big eyes, full lips, expression chilled… _holy shit, holy_ fuck, _it’s Yukhei._

Their eyes locked, and without another thought, Jungwoo pushed past him and ran out of the store.

_“Jungwoo—”_

Why wasn’t there _anybody_ out? The sidewalks as far as he could see were empty, the weather too sticky and humid for anyone to enjoy being outside. Jungwoo was breathing hard, gritting his teeth; the handles of the plastic grocery bags were digging into his fingers, but he couldn’t think about stopping to reposition. _Of course they were coming, I knew they were coming. Why am I thinking about bringing Taeyong a new coat? If I could just do my job, he wouldn’t be here once winter comes, anyway._ His lungs burning, he darted into an alleyway at the end of the main street, desperately debating whether or not to look back and see if Yukhei had spotted his detour.

“Is your job done, Jungwoo? We’ve given you seven days.”

The familiar voice behind him made Jungwoo’s blood run cold as ice. He’d hoped to never hear it again, but he’d been naive to think it possible. _This is what I get for thinking like a human instead of a killing machine._ He turned slowly, and habitually, he lowered his eyes to Siwon’s legs in his military fatigues.

“I don’t know why I bother asking. I already have my answer right here.” The commander’s voice was tight with bitter mocking, and he reached out to snatch one of the grocery bags from Jungwoo’s hands, peeking inside. “Rice? Coffee? We feed you well, Jungwoo… what need do you have to spend your emergency money on food if you intend on coming back?”

It was a rhetorical question, Jungwoo knew. There _was_ no need. His throat felt tight, and he dared to glance up a bit higher, to Siwon’s chest, but never, _never_ to his eyes. “I’m— still working on it. I just need a little bit longer. I haven’t had a good chance.”

“Does he not _sleep?!”_ Siwon snapped, making Jungwoo wince. The sound of footsteps behind him sent anxiety creeping into his stomach like nausea, and when he peeked back over his shoulder— Yukhei and Donghyuck, blocking his path.

 _They don’t know what Taeyong’s abilities are. They’ve said so themselves._ Jungwoo tried to think quickly, tried to sound convincing as he answered desperately, “I don’t know if he needs to sleep much. I’ve never seen him sleep. And— I think I have a concussion from being beaten, so I’ve been sleeping a _lot.”_

It couldn’t have been further from the truth. Actually, Jungwoo had been having trouble sleeping, too busy watching Taeyong’s angelic face. Awake and alert, he was so dazzlingly beautiful that Jungwoo was scared to stare for too long. But asleep, it was like open season, he felt like he could look as much as he wanted.

“It takes _one second_ to put a bullet in his goddamn skull!” Siwon didn’t raise his voice, but he had a venomous way of speaking that was somehow even _worse._ Before Jungwoo could swallow his fear, the older man’s hand clasped around his throat, eliciting a strangled cry and making him drop his other bag. “You’re trying to run, aren’t you, Jungwoo?”

“N-N—” _No air, can’t speak._ Jungwoo struggled to draw a breath as he reached for Siwon’s arm, eyes bulging and spots dancing in his vision. Blindly, his fingers scrambled against Siwon’s hand and he dug his nails into his wrist— but he was weak, the pain didn’t seem to phase the elder—

And then, all at once, he let go and let Jungwoo collapse to the pavement. The pain in his palms and knees as he caught himself was inconsequential compared to the burning of his throat as he gulped in air and coughed up spit. Death had felt close at times during his training, sometimes he’d even _wished_ for it, but never like this.

“Do I send Donghyuck, then? Send you back to the base for additional training?”

Behind him, Donghyuck was obediently silent, but the notion made Jungwoo’s blood run cold. Donghyuck and Jungwoo had _grown up together,_ and still the younger had taken no hesitation in cracking Jungwoo’s ribs under orders. He’d kill Taeyong on-sight, wouldn’t even take the time to say hello or look into the man’s dark eyes, wouldn’t even appreciate the _beauty_ of what he’d built out there by himself. Maybe that only meant that Donghyuck was smarter than him, but—

“Donghyuck will— take too long— the place was hard to find,” Jungwoo insisted between gasps, heart still beating in his ears. “I know where it is now. I’ll go back. I’ll take care of him.”

“Then I can expect to see you back here in— two days? That sounds about right.” Siwon’s tone did not invite negotiation. Jungwoo could do little more but nod. “In the meantime, looks like the two of you are eating well,” he added, bending down to rifle through one of the plastic shopping bags. “Chocolates, hm? Making him fat and happy for his last day alive?”

“Don’t—” Jungwoo cut himself off, mostly out of fear. _Don’t push._ “He’s just— different than I expected. Powerful. I wasn’t ready, but I promise, I will be. I’ll wait for him to fall asleep, and I’ll— take care of him.”

He couldn’t say _kill._ Even thinking the word made bile rise in his throat, and as he finally dragged himself to his feet, his knees were shaking. Siwon only snorted.

“See you soon, Jungwoo.”

One way or another, Jungwoo thought gravely, he _would_ be seeing all his old friends soon. But he truly wasn’t making excuses when he said that Taeyong was different. _Powerful. The way he looks at me, the way he kisses me. This feeling is powerful._ Maybe it was too powerful for both of them, maybe it would destroy them.

🌷

Taeyong was usually happy, alone with his thoughts— but after the luxury of having Jungwoo to talk to for so many days, the cottage seemed bleakly quiet without him. He did his chores in silence, gathered wood and shook the dirt from the rugs and blankets, and every time his mind drifted back to that kiss they’d shared, he found himself smiling.

 _Is this what it’s supposed to feel like? Being in love?_ The longer Jungwoo was gone, the more Taeyong’s stomach did flips at the thought of being reunited. He found himself checking the horizon every few minutes as the afternoon pressed on, listening for the sound of steps cracking sticks on the forest floor.

It was mid-afternoon by the time Taeyong spotted him, and much to his relief, he carried a shopping bag in each hand. The sight made his heart swell with hope— _finally, I’ll have some supplies again, I’ll be able to relax—_ but he had a feeling that he would have been happy to see him even empty-handed. Without a second thought, Taeyong rushed to meet him, and seeming without hesitation, Jungwoo dropped everything in his hands to pull him into a hug. He was breathless, shaking from the exertion of his journey, and the sudden guilt that Taeyong felt made his stomach drop.

“Are you okay? Come here, come here— did you run out of water? Did you eat anything?” Taeyong pulled back reluctantly from the hug, taking both of the heavy plastic shopping bags himself. “Come lay down. I’m sorry to put this all on you… I know it’s a long journey.”

“I volunteered, didn’t I?” Jungwoo kept behind Taeyong, eyes lowered to the forest floor as though calculating each step— though when he happened to glance up and catch Taeyong’s eyes, he grinned. “I bought you a gift. I’ll show you once we get inside.”

All of it seemed like a gift, to Taeyong. The rice was much needed, the sight of the coffee can made his mouth water with desire. But when Jungwoo pulled out a heart-shaped box of chocolates, Taeyong felt his heart melt, and he couldn’t hold himself back— he leaned in and pressed his lips against Jungwoo’s all at once. The kiss was tense for half a second before Jungwoo melted into it, arms wrapping protectively around Taeyong’s body.

“You didn’t have to,” he whispered as he pulled away. “Nobody’s ever gotten me chocolates before.” Not like _these,_ anyway, _Valentine’s_ chocolate as opposed to the artificial-tasting Nestle’s chocolates that he and his sister would sometimes steal from the candy counter in his youth.

“I don’t care.” Jungwoo smiled, daring to kiss Taeyong’s forehead. “Eat them. You’re too thin.”

Taeyong found himself blushing, keeping Jungwoo close. “Eat them with me,” he urged softly. “I can’t eat them all. My heart would probably explode from the sugar high.”

And so they did; Taeyong opened the box, they each selected a candy, and they decided to tuck the rest away for later. It had been literal _years_ since Taeyong had bitten into a piece of chocolate, and he was unprepared for the sweet gush of liquid and the sugary cherry inside, but he chewed slowly and savored every second of it.

Jungwoo said nothing as he nibbled at the edge of a chocolate-covered almond, but Taeyong noticed the way that he kept his head down and his eyes low. Things _felt_ different, and it made the illusion of comfortable paradise from the last several days _crack._

 _Maybe I shouldn’t have kissed him again. Maybe he changed his mind._ Taeyong’s brows furrowed, but before he could ask, Jungwoo lifted his head to drink from the chipped teacup of water he’d been brought, and Taeyong’s blood ran cold at the ominous bruises that circled his neck. The marks on his face had mostly faded, but this was obviously fresh, and it made him feel sick.

“Jungwoo…? What happened?”

“I—” Taeyong wondered if Jungwoo would deny anything— he seemed like the type— but the younger reached up to touch his own neck as he spoke, absently rubbing over the dark marks. “I got mugged on the way out of the store. Just some drunk who wanted my money. I didn’t have much left, since I’d spent it all on these supplies, so I just gave him the change from my pockets. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

It wasn’t _fine,_ Taeyong wanted to argue— _you don’t deserve to suffer, especially not for my sake. I only have myself to blame for the pain in my life, and I don’t want you to shoulder this burden._ His breath quivered as he inhaled, eyes closing, dark thoughts gathering like storm clouds.

Never, _never,_ did he want to be responsible for any more pain.

“Hyung…” Jungwoo’s voice pleaded softly, but Taeyong didn’t open his eyes until Jungwoo’s fingertips grazed along his unshaven cheek. His eyes were wide and wet, as though on the verge of tears, but his lopsided little smile absolutely shattered Taeyong’s heart. “Don’t worry. You’re too pretty to worry.”

Taeyong choked out a laugh. _“Jungwoo—”_

“Partially my fault, anyway. I should have been paying attention in town, but I was daydreaming about you.” Jungwoo giggled, and perhaps it was deception, perhaps it was flattery, but at least Taeyong could rest assured that it wasn’t a _mistake._ The supplies would last through the summer, with proper rationing, and that meant that they could stay in their paradise for… well, until Jungwoo left, anyway. “Will you kiss me again, hyung?”

“You don’t need to _ask._ I thought I made it pretty pathetically obvious that I wanted to be with you…”

Jungwoo grinned, his pretty eyes crinkling. “But I like it best when _you_ kiss _me._ It makes me feel better.” And then he closed his eyes and puckered his lips expectantly, and… well, if there was one thing that Taeyong had never been good at, it was keeping emotions in check.

His heart drew him forward, his arms locked around Jungwoo’s strong shoulders, and they kissed and kissed and _kissed,_ until Taeyong could no longer reliably tell where his mouth ended and Jungwoo’s began.


End file.
